HAPPY EASTER TO YOU ALL. I hope it was a good one…despite the appalling weather. We’ve been making Easter eggs and chilling together. Which has been really lovely.  My son was so impressed with the eggs that he didn’t believe that we’d made them ourselves (well to be fair my daughter made them mostly):-

Homemade easter eggs

Homemade easter eggs

Homemade easter eggs

Homemade easter eggs

Just taking a moment to wish my little blog a happy 11th birthday!! 11?? WTF. It’s almost as old as my children. At least it doesn’t talk back to me or spend all my money. Just wastes a lot of time – but then again, it really helps me to have a record to go back over. On this occasion, it’s worth me just acknowledging that whilst my recovery journey after divorce has been long and arduous, this year, it truly was a Happy Easter and finally, I have a lot to be thankful for and have got a lot better about being on my own.

I started my blog over the Easter weekend in 2007 and so Good Friday always takes me back to the beginning of my long journey out of the depths of misery and despair after unexpectedly joining the world of single parenting. Good Friday was renamed Bad Friday and over the years became Acceptable Friday or OK Friday. I hope that showing you some sort of progress over time might help any of you going through a similar marriage breakdown and reassure you that “this too will pass”.

This is what I wrote 11 Good Friday’s ago:-


I am trying to keep busy. This is my latest “what to do with myself whilst the children go away with their father” project. If I don’t keep busy, I tend to feel sorry for myself. If I feel sorry for myself I tend to do stupid things because I hate being on my own.

Having to let go of the children, both physically and mentally was, and still is excruciatingly painful. Today, I am trying to stop thinking about how many Easter Eggs they will be eating without me and whether they will be doing an Easter egg hunt. They leave tonight. I am deviously planning to let them eat their easter eggs early (obviously children from broken families benefit by getting 25 times as many eggs as children from nuclear families). Half an hour before they go on a four hour car journey in their father’s car should do the trick. This will be in lieu of travel sickness pills and I may also accidentally on purpose forget to pack the sick bags.

Only joking. But I am seriously going to have to find myself some projects. I can’t bear the thought of them going somewhere without me.

Pretty bad eh?

Then the next Good Friday was even worse so I called it Bad Friday. I was a mess, in a very dark place with not as many anchors as I needed to stop myself from falling off the edge of my life path. It was a defining moment, because I realised that I had to get a grip. Things were falling apart. Bits of me were falling apart and I was putting myself in danger.

This is what happened:-

“This is SO not Good Friday. This is Bad Friday. I am so ill. I have the worst hangover in the history of hangovers and I have been sick twice. In addition my lovely ex-sister-in-law is coming over to take me to casualty because I think I may have broken my ankle. This, for any of you who have been following my blog, is not my fault. It is a genetic problem that I can do nothing about, that involves drinking pints of disgusting pub white wine, falling over at some point on my way home and waking up wondering what on earth happened. My father did just the same thing only months ago and my two brothers do it frequently.

I am never drinking again.

I think I must have been Rohipnolled (is that a word yet?) because I have a very big blank in my memory. Which is a very dangerous place to be. Texted friend who was with me: “u hav 2 call me I’m dying” and told her that if I had actually died nobody would know for four days because my children are away. “Lucky you” she said – “at least you can luxuriate in your misery – I have to go and get a dead hamster out of it’s cage that has been eaten down to the bone by the other one and then console my inconsolable daughter”.

I am off to hospital now. Back later for on-going saga of drunken night out”.

So you see? Really not a good place to be.

Today? Eleven years down the line and we’ve all had a great Easter weekend. I was at a splendid 18th birthday party on Friday night dancing with the teenagers for hours and then my mother arrived for the weekend so Saturday night was spent just with her, catching up. On Sunday the team arrived. My son from Cardiff, where he had been watching the Joshua fight. My two other children from their various adventures, then my brother and his family, followed by my other brother in time for supper. We had a lovely evening together. T’was great fun.

Easter Sunday meal

Easter Sunday meal

Especially in lieu of the fact that my youngest has now gone off to Amsterdam with a huge crowd of friends for an 18th birthday party. Staying in an Airbnb. I do hope they don’t annoy the neighbours like they did in Barcelona. He has also had a long talk from me about how to avoid falling into a canal, getting lost, losing his passport, phone, friends, way, money, marbles, avoiding the red light district (what are the chances of that), getting a tattoo and all that other white noise we throw at them for no good reason because they clearly aren’t going to be listening….my brother told him to avoid the “brownies”. He went for a weekend when he was younger, ate a “brownie” in a cafe on Saturday afternoon and woke up on Sunday evening just in time to get his plane back home. Ha ha.


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